


Details

by korik



Series: A Dissertation in Memories [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: F/M, How Do I Tag, forced amputation, physical violence, the best moments are always ruined
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 13:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1430350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korik/pseuds/korik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote this back before Cap 2: WS came out, then it came out and I got distracted with finishing it. Aqualung has helped me rewrite this (see: Another Little Hole). I couldn't abandon the prompt, however, it really just kinda hit home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Details

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [DreamingAngelWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingAngelWolf/pseuds/DreamingAngelWolf) in the [BuckyNat_Week_2014_Drabble_Prompts](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/BuckyNat_Week_2014_Drabble_Prompts) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> On one of their rare nights in each other's arms, James and Natalia are found. The Red Room takes swift action.

There’s a hollow noise in the old, run down church that sits as though it is sinking into the snow, peeling the edges of the wood, the faces of angels and patron saints with long, dark lines worn into their surfaces, the remnants of paint flickering in the lamplight closest to the blanket that they have bundled each other up in.

Pale puffs of white escape from the smaller one’s cracked lips, and their tongue flicks over them compulsively, coughing in the dark shadows that crawl from the high arches where the demons scowl. The voice cracks, sound forced up through the chill of the air, «”How long has it been, d’you think?”»

There’s a soft hiss and exhale of super-heated air as awkward not-fingers grope around with the delicacy of a new parent as the second figure stirs to life, dark blue eyes peeling open. «”More than a handful, at least - do you need something to eat? That priest should’ve been back by now - “»

The first figure hunches their shoulders as their body shivers again, curling up under the exposed flesh of the neck of their partner, wrinkling their nose when they are scratched by the days old mess. «”No, not really, too cold to be hungry.”»

The second figure’s body mirrors the quivering, and the weight of their head comes down on onto the knitted cap covering the dulled array of red in sore need of a bath. «”S’what you get for being with the _Winter_ Soldier, comrade.”»

The first figure unwinds their pale left hand from its hiding place under the frayed, frizzed pattern of interlocking squares, eyes flickering over the knotted string just before the knuckle, cupping the line of the squarer jaw. «”Shush, you’ve warmed me plenty before.”»

A flash of the man’s smile as he nuzzles his lips into the crease of the palm that is held to the cold of his flesh, breathing out hot, curling air through the spaces of her fingers, eyelids heavy with dark patches clinging to his lower lids. «”No wonder you always burn me, Nat.”»

Their lips are rough when they meet, but it feels a relief anyway to press them together, an assurance of presence, of what has happened.

He covers her bodily when the doors crash inwards, splinters of wood shrieking with the sound of the snowstorm and clattering machinery roaring through the drowning snow.

The pews with their splotched fabric offer little reprieve from the blinding lights, the angry voices barking out in their common tongue.

The Soldier is grieved, clinging to her as he would to life, but she kisses him again as the steps pound through the imitation of heaven with its demons meant to frighten the sinful. «”It’s not your fault.”»

Yanked up and spat at, he nearly lunges at the handlers when they strike her, she who does not cry out, holding her head up as her cheek grows blotchy, the cap now on the once hallowed ground, glimmering threads of red streaming across her blue lips where pieces of skin fragment from the flush of aching red underneath.

To the ground he buckles from the weight of an edge being shoved into his back and through the thick coat, his mechanical arm hissing its funnels of flaring white. It is unceremoniously ripped from its housing, and he throws up in the middle of them as the last strands of wires and metal leave his torn sleeve loose and empty. They don’t bother to clean him up as they are both dragged back through the shattered pews and chilling snow, their boots and bones clattering as they make contact with the bed of the truck.

The Soldier makes a groggy sound, eyes rolling to the woman’s gasp of pain as rapid, repeating sounds knife through the air, and a man screams before the lights in his eyes disappear.

__________

The way back is quick like the heartbeat that flings itself against the sallow flesh of her neck, the man’s head on his chest, spit and drool winding from his mouth. She tries to keep his tongue from lolling out of his head and getting caught on his teeth as they are jostled and thrown like dolls with every bump and screech of badly oiled brakes.

By comparison the soft glide into camp is a dream, and the lights explode through the doors as they are yanked open, glittering off the ring of barrels that enclose the exit.  Through the doors she is half beaten on already bruised limbs and dragged, limp and malleable from the bed where she had listened to the soft, raspy wheezing of her companion into the snow.

The hole in her chest reminds her in the dark she will not see him again, and as she listens to the echoing screams ricocheting from the dripping lines of the cement walls that are half submerged in dirt, her head buries itself into the legs she has gathered to her chest, inhaling the scent of pine and oil from where his jacket met hers.

She leaves the bit of blackened wool knotted around her finger, hands clenched white as she refuses to cry.


End file.
